The journey through the outer office was accomplished without mishap, though Mr. Culpepper, running afoul of a swivel chair, had to be restrained from attacking the whirling piece of furniture bodily. Marc and Toffee took him in charge and guided him gently into Marc's private office, where Agatha and Chadwick had preceded them and turned on the lights. Agatha turned on Toffee threateningly. "Well, we're here," she said. "Where are the pills?" Toffee nodded toward the desk. "Over there," she said. "The green bottle." At the sight of the bottle both Agatha and Chadwick seemed to lose a good deal of their dignified reserve; they fairly trampled each other in a rush for the desk. Reaching the bottle, they grappled openly across the desk for its possession. Marc and Toffee dropped Mr. Culpepper to the lounge and stood by for developments. "Give it here!" Agatha shrilled. "Let me have it, do you hear!" "I'll let you have it right enough," Chadwick grunted back at her. "I'll let you have it right in the eye with my fist." "Louse!" Agatha yelled. "I'm going to be head of this organization. I have the brains anyway." "Since when?" Chadwick jeered. "If it weren't for me you'd still be carrying grog behind a bar." "Yes," Agatha said evilly, trying to twist the bottle out of his hand, "and you, sponge that you are, would be soaking it up as fast as I could carry it. Give me that bottle, you old rummy." "Take your grasping claws off it," Chadwick said levelly, "before I lose my temper. I'll see that the pills are handled properly." "Properly for whom?" Agatha rasped. "You'd hog them all for yourself, that's what you'd do!" Both of them stood their ground. The struggle was apparently one to the finish; obviously whichever of them emerged the victor would be in control of the other forever after. Deep within them primitive instincts had been set to work to choose the chieftain ... or chieftainess, as the case might be ... of their proposed "organization." As the contest left the field of invective and entered onto the more taxing one of physical, brute force, they both seemed to forget their captives. Dropping their guns to the floor, first Agatha, then Chadwick, they shoved their free hands in each other's faces and began to push. At this, Marc and Toffee, with a little cry of triumph, acted as a team in swooping away from the lounge and retrieving the guns from the floor. Looking somewhat like an infant Annie Oakley, Toffee stepped back, aimed her pistol in the general direction of the battling Harpers and shouted, "Stick 'em up!" But the Harpers had other things on their minds. Chadwick had just let out an enraged bellow as Agatha's even, white teeth had bitten into one of his fingers. Toffee looked helplessly at Marc. "What'll we do?" she asked.